Forever Wild (Wild 2.50)

“Oh. You’ve got to see this.” I retrieve the garden harvest basket from where I left it by the door and carry it over for Jonah.

He inspects the perfect cuts and skilled craftmanship. “Well made.”

“That’s because Roy made it.”

“Roy donated something? What, did Muriel threaten him?”

I laugh. “I know, right? He said the handle was wonky so he couldn’t sell it. He was going to burn it.”

Jonah tests the handle and then shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s solid.”

Just like there was nothing wrong with the moose roast Roy claimed was rancid when he thrust it into my hands, and nothing wrong with the bales of hay he said his goats wouldn’t eat when he dropped them off for Zeke, and nothing wrong with the firewood he chopped and stacked outside the cabin, claiming the logs wouldn’t burn right at his place.

Jonah sets the garden basket on the floor beside the couch. “So, how was your day?”

I flop on the couch beside him. “Long. Exhausting. But successful, I guess—Ah!” I squeal as Jonah grabs hold of my ankles and pulls my legs across his lap.

And then I let out a low groan of delight as he begins rubbing my sore feet.

“Oh, Marie says hi.”

“Muriel suckered her into helping out, too?”

“No. She was just there in the morning to drop off an auction prize. A bunch of pet food and toys. And, hey, I didn’t get suckered into anything. Muriel highlighted how my talents and contributions have proven invaluable to the town, and so I graciously offered my services.”

Jonah smirks. “What’d she have you do today?”

“You mean, what didn’t she have me do.” I yank off my elf’s hat and settle my head back against the throw pillow. Jonah’s skilled thumbs work magic on my heels as I describe a day of rooting through dusty storage boxes, climbing a wobbly ladder a dozen times to string lights, and corralling the youngest and most impressionable of Trapper’s Crossing’s children as they scampered to Santa Teddy’s lap to relay urgent, last-minute requests.

“The kid peed on him?”

“Two kids peed on him,” I correct. “But this one was the first kid of the night, and he must have had a full bladder.” A chubby-cheeked, three-year-old boy named Thomas who whispered about wanting a train set by the same name while staring at Teddy’s bushy white beard, mesmerized.

And then he let loose.

I didn

’t realize what was happening until Teddy, ever the jovial one, peered down at the small puddle forming by his feet.

“Teddy excused himself and went to the back room to change his pants. They have a spare because apparently, he gets peed on every year.”

Jonah’s head falls back in a burst of deep laughter.

“Shhh! You’ll wake them up!” I warn, nudging his thigh with my toes, but I’m giggling, too.

“Remind me to never agree to do anything like that.”

“I thought you wanted kids,” I mock.

“Not to piss on me.”

“That’s what they do. They pee and vomit on you, and they smear their poop all over the walls like it’s finger paint.” According to Sharon, anyway. I’ve kept in touch with the old receptionist from Alaska Wild over email. She and Max are enjoying their time in Portland with baby Thor, though she says Max is itching to come back.

“Fine. My kids can do that on me. Other kids can do that on someone else.”

I smile. Hearing Jonah talk about kids and being a parent doesn’t spark the same tension it used to, back when we were charging headfirst into this relationship without pause. In fact, it no longer fazes me. Sometimes I find myself wondering how many we’ll end up having, what they’ll be, and who they’ll take after more. Will they have my hair? Jonah’s eyes?

Will Jonah’s son inherit those same adorable dimples that used to hide behind that unruly beard of his?